


Albatross

by abbzeh



Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, But also, Canon Compliant, Female Percy Jackson, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, so there's that I guess
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-22
Updated: 2018-12-24
Packaged: 2019-05-23 16:01:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14937440
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/abbzeh/pseuds/abbzeh
Summary: A child, born of two pantheons; a prophecy of destruction; and the Moirai, whose interpretation of that prophecy changes everything. Fem!Percy





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So I've been really into Percy Jackson again for the last few months so I've decided to do this - it's my first time writing anything for PJO and I'm really nervous (absolutely terrified) about posting this, so please be gentle. I really hope this is okay.

_Our wills and fates do so contrary run_  
_That our devices still are overthrown;_  
_Our thoughts are ours, their ends none of our own_

~ Player King; Hamlet (Shakespeare)

* * *

Poseidon appeared in the small bedroom in a cloud of sea-spray, the smell of salt instantly spreading through the air. He paused for a moment, his head still spinning with the gravity of the situation now upon him, and he looked around. The room itself was small and unassuming, the light from the mortal streetlights on the road outside illuminating strips of the worn carpet, revealing the nightstand, the half-read book on top of it, and the bed beside it. Poseidon took a moment to watch as Sally Jackson slept on, unaware of his presence, and he smiled sadly at her. He wondered if this young mortal girl, so full of spirit and burdened with clear eyes, truly knew the gravity of what she had agreed to do.

"I'm sorry," he said quietly, voice too low for her mortal ears to pick up. He was sorry for many things, countless things. "Sorry for this life that I've dragged you into." Almost unconsciously, he turned his head to the side, to where a small cot sat innocently in the corner. Poseidon found himself smiling again. "But I cannot be sorry for this."

"I should hope not," came a voice from behind him, a breeze of fresh apples accompanying it. Unconsciously, Poseidon turned to face the owner of the voice, already knowing who he would find there. Over the last few months, he had become familiar with her aura.

The woman behind him seemed to be constantly shifting between faces, an amalgamation of all of the classical beauties of this modern age, as well as those long gone. Her eyes shifted from blue to green to hazel, a never-ending explosion of colour. Her hair, which had been a chestnut-amber colour, shifted to an ashy brown. For once, her face was serious, more serious than Poseidon had ever seen it.

"Aphrodite," he greeted, inclining his head. Aphrodite – or was she Venus? – looked around the room, her eyes softening slightly as they landed on Sally. After a moment, she too turned to look at the cot in the corner. Barely sparing Poseidon a glance, she made her way over to it. Poseidon paused for a moment, then followed her, anticipation thrumming in his chest.

Aphrodite at his side, he carefully looked down into the cot, at the multitude of blankets within. A small face peered back up at him, blinking tiredly for a moment before their eyes settled on Poseidon's face. Poseidon felt his heart stop and start up again – those were  _his_  eyes, and Mother Rhea's eyes, eyes like the green of the sea. And on that tiny, precious head, he could see tufts of dark hair, already as messy as his own hair. He could see traces of Aphrodite in the baby's face, as well – in those green, green eyes, the shades seemed to shift like Aphrodite's eyes so often did, like the sea itself.

This was their  _daughter_ , tiny and beloved, and with shaking, unworthy hands, he carefully picked her up, tucked her into the crook of his arm.

Aphrodite leant over slightly to look at her, barely breathing. Then slowly, her face uncertain, she raised a hand and gently lowered it towards the baby, her eyes widening when the baby took hold of one of her fingers.

"I don't regret her," she said softly, reluctantly removing her hand after a moment. She turned her gaze to Sally once again, and her eyes turned regretful. "I wish I could give her my blessing, but that would just make your brother take notice."

Poseidon sighed softly, rocking the baby from side to side. Slowly, her eyes slipped closed, and Poseidon felt warmth swell in his chest at the sight again. Ever so slowly, he lowered her back down into the cot again, making sure that she wouldn't be smothered by excess blankets during the night, and he turned his attention to the space above the baby's head. He raised a hand, a light golden glow emanating from his fingertips, and within a second a baby mobile appeared there, adorned with dolphins, doves, hippocampi, and sparrows. It began to gently, slowly spin.

"What did the mortal girl name her?" Aphrodite asked, wringing her hands together. The gesture made her look oddly vulnerable.

"Atalanta," Poseidon admitted after a moment, rubbing a hand along the back of his head. Sally certainly knew of the history of the gods, of the child she was now raising. Aphrodite raised her eyebrows. "She wants her to have a good namesake to aspire to."

"I remember her," Aphrodite mused lightly, tilting her head to the side as she drifted off in thought. "She was a nice girl, even if she was a bit too much like Artemis." There, she briefly pulled a face, somehow managing to make even that look like a graceful motion.

"I have to ask…" Poseidon trailed off uncertainly, unsure of how to proceed with his question. Aphrodite merely gestured towards him, a silent way of telling him to ask away. "Are you Aphrodite or Venus right now?"

Aphrodite smiled, then, her eyes twinkling ever so slightly. She casually pushed her hair behind her shoulder. "I am  _both_ , dear nephew." She winked at him, and Poseidon felt himself turn red. "Love is universal, so I am the same no matter which form I take." Her face seemed to shimmer, different to Aphrodite's usual shifting face, and suddenly Poseidon was looking at a slightly older version of her, her aura radiating an undercurrent of something militaristic – Venus. "If I had to choose, though, I would say that I was leaning more towards  _this_  form when we…" she trailed off, raising a suggestive eyebrow as she nodded towards Atalanta.

Poseidon went red again, despite the many years on his age, and Venus smirked at him. Her form shimmered again, and her aura calmed down again, a sign that she was back to being Aphrodite. She turned her face back to the cot, momentarily looking like a marble statue in the yellow light. "You and your brothers took that Oath for the prophecy. Do you think she could be the one?"

Poseidon grimaced, a chill going down his spine. He could almost hear the ominous whispers of the  _Moirai_  in his head. "I hope not," he said truthfully, looking down at the sleeping baby. "If she is, we have cursed her." Aphrodite didn't say anything, and Poseidon sighed again. Glancing at the sky, he saw the ominous flash of thunder in the distance. "We should go. If we linger, my brother may discover us." Poseidon's face darkened as he thought of all the possible scenarios for that happening. "Her fate is with the  _Moirai_  now."

Aphrodite nodded, briefly casting a pained look towards Atalanta. She looked down for a moment, and when she looked back up, her face was steeled in a mask. She inclined her head, and began to glow gold. Within a moment, she was gone in a burst of fresh apple. Poseidon lingered for only another moment, casting one last look back at their daughter, before sighing and vanishing into gold, as well. The only evidence of their presence there was the gently rotating mobile, and the smell of sea salt on the air.

* * *

Lana Jackson hated school in all its forms, in all honesty.

At twelve years old, she was already considered a 'problem child' by the vast majority of her teachers, had a short attention span and got distracted easily due to her ADHD, and had trouble reading both from the board and her textbooks due to her dyslexia. She had a string of school expulsions, each more extravagant than the last, and she had a bit of a habit of losing her cool and shouting at her English teacher, Mr Nicoll.

As it was, she was currently enrolled at Yancy Academy, a private boarding school in upstate New York for troubled kids. By that, it actually meant 'for hellish, psychotic demon babies beyond the help of God'. Lana was used to things going wrong around her – there would be weird experiences that the adults would explain away with technicalities, despite the fact that those explanations never made any sense. Yancy, however,  _really_  took the cake for making things odd.

It was in May that year that the brewing weirdness reached a boiling point. Lana's class had been taken on a field trip to the Metropolitan Museum of Art in Manhattan. She didn't know which was less appealing – the museum, or spending at least half an hour in a school bus with the rest of her mentalcase classmates. The only plus to the trip was the fact that it was for Mr Brunner's class, so they were going to be looking at all the history stuff, specifically the old Greek and Roman stuff.

Mr Brunner himself was easily the nicest teacher that Lana had ever had. He was a middle-aged guy with a wheelchair, and always seemed to have a book to hand for every occasion. No matter which frayed, tweed jacket he wore, there always seemed to be the smell of fresh coffee lingering about him. He was a pretty cool teacher that actually made an effort to make his lessons fun – he told jokes in class, let all the kids play games, and liked to put on episodes of different TV shows to help them learn – one that had come up a lot was  _Horrible Histories_ , some English show from the BBC. Lana actually liked his class quite a lot, if she was being honest. It was interesting to think of people living so long ago.

Plus, he had a collection of Roman armour and weaponry, so that gained him extra points in Lana's book.

Despite all the points in the trip's favour, Lana was still dreading it. She didn't do well in moving vehicles – it always felt like her stomach was turning to knots, like it was trying to force its way up her throat, if she focused on a word for too long. Then there was her colourful history of field trips from her past schools. Bad things tended to happen to her on them.

Like that one time a former history teacher had taken them to Fort Ticonderoga, a really cool, old fort from before the War of Independence built by the French-Canadians. And so she had a little accident with one of the cannons – it's not like she was  _actually_  aiming for the bus. Or the time before that, at yet another school, when the science teacher had deemed Lana's class worthy enough to visit the zoo. Lana still wasn't sure what happened, even three years later, but all she knows is that the penguins escaping and making their way to her was  _not_  her fault.

And it's probably best not to mention the incident with the shark tank.

Lana shook her head, taking a deep breath. She was determined to make sure that this trip would be a success. Nothing would make it go to hell, not unplanned swims in shark tanks – not that there would be any shark tanks in a museum, hopefully – and not Nathan Bobofit.

For the entire trip into the city, Lana coped with Nathan Bobofit, an annoying orange-haired, orange-freckled weed of a boy, and his annoying presence, with him throwing bits of his lunch at Grover, her best friend. Every so often, a piece of a tuna sandwich would pelt Grover in the back of his curly-haired head, and Lana's blood would boil just that little bit more.

It didn't help that Grover was a favourite target of the bullies, particularly Nathan. Whilst he was kind of tall – taller than Lana, anyway, which wasn't much of an accomplishment, because everyone was taller than her – he was scrawny, with a penchant for crying when he got stressed or frustrated. On top of all of that, Grover was crippled. With what, Lana wasn't sure – he had never said. All she knew was that he had a note excusing him from PE for life.

Not that it had ever stopped him from racing to be first in line in the refectory on enchilada day, Lana thought with a wry smile.

Another chunk of tuna sandwich hurled towards Grover, impaling and embedding itself in his brown hair. Lana grit her teeth, forcing herself not to look back at Nathan's ferrety little face – he  _knew_ that she couldn't do anything, the little twat that he was. The headmaster had already warned her that nothing was to happen on this trip, or it would be on  _her_  head, not even something of the mildly entertaining variety.

_Plop_. Another piece. Lana growled, and started to get up, despite the churning in her stomach.

"I'm going to destroy him," she announced to Grover, voice frank like was talking about picking up her weekly shopping. Grover hastily grabbed her wrist and tugged her back down into her seat.

"It's okay!" he said hurriedly, trying to calm Lana down. His eyes flicked from side to side, and he smiled slightly. "I – uh – like fish."

Lana raised an eyebrow. "You're a vegetarian," she reminded him curtly, and Grover made a vague noise.

"Oh yeah," he muttered, as though that thought hadn't occurred to him until then. Lana just stared at him, until yet another bit of sandwich came flying from the back of the bus. Off track, Lana wondered where on earth all these pieces of sandwich could be coming from. Seriously, it was like Nathan Bobofit had his own sandwich shop set up in the back seats. Then her mind sped back up, and her irritation returned, along with her desire to stand back up. Grover seemed to notice something in her face, because he grabbed her wrist again. "Seriously, calm down! You're on probation as it is! If something goes wrong, you know who they'll blame!"

Lana  _did_  know who they'll blame. It didn't mean she had to like it, though. Leaning back in her seat – and sinking slightly further down so the top of her head wasn't exposed to flying sandwich bits – she silently resolved to kick Nathan Bobofit's ass when they got back to Yancy.

Arriving at the museum at long last, everyone piled off the bus, and Mr Brunner and Mrs Dodds, the evil pre-algebra teacher, led everyone to and through the museum. Lana tried not to get distracted by all the things they were passing, but there were so many cool things. They passed so many awesome looking weapons that had Lana turning her head towards – she didn't know  _exactly_  what a 'roncone' was, but it looked sweet and she wanted one – and so many old looking things. It honestly kind of annoyed her that most of her classmates – mainly the boys, like Nathan Bobofit, as was typical of them – just ignored it all.

Finally, Mr Brunner led them into another section, and Lana stared in wonder. The entire exhibit had been dedicated to Greek and Roman stuff, with black and orange vases and pottery sitting behind crystal clear glass, little notes underneath them that Lana couldn't read. As Mr Brunner talked, Lana stared at them with wide eyes, at the pictures still so clear even after two thousand, three thousand years. It was insane.

Mr Brunner gestured for the class to gather around a four-metre-tall stone column, apparently called a  _stele_. Lana stared at the sphinx on top of it for a moment whilst Mr Brunner talked, telling the class that the  _stele_  was a grave-marker for a girl her age, about the carvings that wrapped around the sides of it. Lana felt a strange twinge in the pit of her chest at the thought of it being a grave-marker, but she didn't know why. Was it because this girl had died so young? She honestly didn't know.

Behind her, Nathan Bobofit and his gang of equally annoying little friends were snorting to themselves. Whenever Lana turned around to glare at them, or to hiss vaguely threatening threats at them, Mrs Dodds would swoop in from the sidelines and give her an evil look, like she was planning the best method of evisceration. Some days, Lana really thought that the Georgian maths teacher was an actual demon.

Nathan muttered something to his friends about one of the naked guys on the  _stele_  – Lana was not sure what a naked guy is doing on a grave-marker for a twelve-year-old girl, but it was Ancient Greece, so she would give them the benefit of the doubt – and his little friends snickered again. Lana finally whirled around and all but snarled out, "I am going to  _kill_  you, Nathan."

It came out louder than she'd intended it to, and Mr Brunner stopped talking.

"Miss Jackson," he said mildly, his eyes twinkling mischievously, "murder is currently illegal in most of the western world."

Lana shrugged, uncaring about the snickers behind her. The majority of boys were stupid anyway, Grover being the one exception to the rule. " _Currently_ ," she repeated breezily.

"Indeed." Mr Brunner pointed at one of the carvings on the  _stele_. "As you can't murder Mr Bobofit yet, can you tell us what this picture represents?"

Lana looked at the carving he was gesturing to and smiled internally. She was glad that she chose to pay attention as much as she could in his classes, which admittedly was made difficult by the fact that a, her attention span was that of a squirrel's hopped up on Red Bull, and b, reading anything just gave her pounding headaches. She recognised the carving.

"That's Kronos eating his kids, yes?"

Mr Brunner nodded, although he clearly expected something more substantial as an answer. "And he did this because…"

"Because he was a paranoid douchenozzle who was the epitome of self-fulfilling prophecies," Lana said bluntly, ignoring the surprised snickering behind her again. "See, when Kronos killed  _his_  dad, his dad told him that he'd be overthrown by one of his kids, so to try and stop this happening, he started eating his kids. Rhea hid the last kid and gave Kronos a rock to eat – how does someone mistake a rock for a kid, anyway? – and that kid was Zeus, so Zeus grew up, eventually freed all his siblings, fought the Titans, and cut their dad into pieces. I think he was thrown into Tartarus?"

Mr Brunner nodded approvingly, the twinkle in his eye returning. Before he could say anything, Nathan Bobofit opened his big mouth and asked, "And why do we need to know this, exactly? Knowing why Kronos ate his kids isn't gonna help with job interviews."

Lana narrowed her eyes, but before she could think about turning around and potentially hitting him, Mr Brunner asked, "Ah, an excellent question, Mr Bobofit." He looked at Lana. "To rephrase that, why does this matter in real life?"

"Beyond telling you not to get eaten?" Lana asked dryly, but then thought for a moment. Ultimately, her brain came up with nothing, and she sighed slightly. "I don't know, sir."

Mr Brunner stared at her for another long moment, those ancient brown eyes seeming to bore into her soul. After a moment, he nodded. "I see." He clapped his hands together. "I think that it's time for lunch. Mrs Dodds, would you lead us back outside?"

Slowly, the class drifted off, with the girls looking vaguely sick, and the boys acting like general idiots. Nothing much had changed then, Lana thought with a mental roll of her eyes. Lana and Grover were about to follow them when Mr Brunner called Lana's name and asked her to hang back for a moment. Lana made her way back to her teacher.

"Yes, sir?" she asked.

Mr Brunner was staring at her again, the look in his eyes intense. After a moment, he said, "You must learn to answer my question." Lana furrowed her brows. "What you learn from me in this class is vitally important. You must learn how to apply it to real life." His eyes seemed to get more intense, and it took all of Lana's willpower to not flinch or look away. "I will accept only the best from you, Atalanta Jackson."

Lana did flinch then, at the use of her full first name. She mumbled something about trying harder and quickly ducked out of the exhibit, walked through the museum and tried not to get distracted by the cool displays once again. She still really wanted a roncone. Or maybe a cutlass. Yeah, a cutlass would be sweet. Forcibly, she dragged her mind back from its mental off-tracking.

Lana really didn't understand Mr Brunner sometimes. Sure, he was her favourite teacher, although that achievement wasn't a hard one to get – the rest of them before him had either ridiculed her for her dyslexia (or just flat out called her lazy, as was the case with her current sworn enemy, Mr Nicoll), or mocked her for her ADHD. He was the first to do neither of those things, and in fact encouraged her to do well in his class by trying to help her learn when he could. Upon realising that she learnt best with visual and audio sources, he had given her a bunch of things like history podcasts and documentaries to watch and listen to in her dorm room as homework. Plus there was the fact that he had tournament days, where he challenged the kids, at sword point, to run to the board and name every Greek and Roman person from history. It was kind of cool, but the fact that he expected Lana to be  _better_  than everyone else began to grate after a while.

Grover was waiting for her outside, his face anxious. Lana quickly joined him, and they rushed down the steps, bypassing the rest of their class, who were messing around on the bottom steps. She felt an irrational burst of irritation when one of the boys pelted a piece of his sandwich towards a flock of pigeons, but she forced herself to ignore it. If she even tried  _glaring_  at them, Mrs Dodds would be there in a flash.

She and Grover ended up settling on the edge of the fountain, away from the rest of the class. For whatever reason, being near water never failed to make Lana feel better, calmer, and she breathed out heavily. Tilted her head up to look at the sky. Far above them, dark stormclouds were gathering together, the clouds far darker than anything she had ever seen before. Honestly, though, the weather had been weird for months.

"Detention?" Grover asked, slowly pulling out his lunch.

Lana shook her head, almost smiling. Grover knew her too well. "Nah," she replied, dipping her hand in the water and unconsciously running her hand through the liquid, watching the ripples from the motion. "Not from him. Although I wish he'd let up sometimes. Sometimes I don't know what I'm supposed to do with him…" She trailed off, sighing slightly.

Grover hummed, taking a bite out of his apple and munching on it. Lana didn't really feel that hungry – okay, she didn't have much of an appetite when travelling, full stop – so she settled for watching the steady stream of cars that passed them by, the pedestrians walking across the zebra crossing, idly dipping her hand in and out of the water. Her mother's apartment was only a short distance away from where she was currently sat, she realised with a longing ache in her chest. As much as she wanted to just get a taxi back home, she wouldn't. Her mother would give her that disappointed look, and Lana would do everything in her power to not disappoint her.

Lana was about to say something to Grover when Nathan Bobofit appeared before them. He dropped his half-eaten lunch in Grover's lap, and smirked widely at them, showing off his crooked teeth.

" _Oops_ ," he grinned wider, like it was the funniest thing in the world. Off to the side, all his little friends were laughing away.

Lana's stare became colder as rage began to boil in her veins, white hot and vicious. As much as she tried to calm her temper, even having her hand in the water wasn't helping. In fact, it felt like the water was warming as her temper got closer to its fuse. Her mind went white, a whooshing sound in her ears. The next thing she knew, Nathan Bobofit was lying in the fountain, screeching his head off about Lana having pushed him. Lana resented that – she most certainly had not. She wouldn't dream of going near him, let alone touching him with a stick.

Around them, some of the other kids were whispering amongst themselves. "Did you see the water?" one muttered, pointing at the fountain.

"Yeah. Like it grabbed her," said their friend, glancing at the water apprehensively. Lana glanced down at the water but saw nothing untoward.

Mrs Dodds materialised next to the fountain, her eyes gleaming.

Lana had no idea how she managed to do that. It was like she was just  _waiting_  for her to screw up or do something just slightly out of the ordinary. Mrs Dodds ignored Lana for a second, turned to her favourite hellspawn child, Nathan, and made various promises that yes, they would get him a new pair of pants from the museum gift shop (did they even  _sell_  pants in the museum gift shop?). Then, she turned to Lana.

"Miss Jackson," she said, her voice gravelly, like she'd been inhaling toxic fumes for fifty years. Which she probably had. She was an evil, hellish bitch whose personality rivalled Mr Nicoll's. "Please follow me."

Lana opened her mouth to protest, because  _no way_. She hadn't done anything wrong, not that she could think of. Not that Mrs Dodds would see it that way, of course, or care about any of that. Insofar as she was concerned, one of her precious hellspawn kids was sitting in the fountain, and, because  _of course_ , Lana was the only possible suspect. Lana honestly wondered what happened inside Mrs Dodds's head sometimes.

Grover jumped to his feet, gesticulating wildly. "Wait!" he yelled, his voice only wavering the slightest bit. " _I_  pushed her!"

Mrs Dodds glared at him, the pure malice in her eyes causing Grover to tremble from the force of it. Lana knitted her eyebrows together in sympathy, but at the same time, a warm feeling spread through her chest. The fact that Grover was willing to stand up for her – hell, even try and take her (ahem) unfairly assigned punishment – left her speechless. Grover was absolutely terrified of Mrs Dodds. He really was her best friend.

"No, Mr Underwood," Mrs Dodds said coolly, after a long moment of hateful staring. She turned that glare on Lana, who fought not to take a step backwards. " _Now_ , Miss Jackson."

Faced with no other alternative, Lana stood and began to follow Mrs Dodds, shooting Grover a grateful smile and a shrug. Turning her gaze to the back of Mrs Dodds's head, she glared at the woman, stuck her hands deep in the pockets of her hoodie.

For a moment, a passing pigeon caught her attention, momentarily diverting her gaze, and when she returned her stare back to Mrs Dodds, she was standing at the top of the steps. Mrs Dodds glared down, arms folded and face impatient, like she had been there for hours. Lana blinked, nearly stopping mid-step. That shit wasn't normal. Lana bit her lip, slowly started ascending the museum steps as she mulled things over. Either she had missed something in the second that she'd glanced at the pigeon – although how she could miss her demonic teacher just vanishing in the space of a second, she didn't know. The councillors had always just said that her brain fell asleep – or Mrs Dodds had up and done a magic trick which, okay, fair enough. Why not.

Lana glanced uncertainly back at Grover one last time, took stock of his anxious face, steeled herself, and continued up the steps.

Mrs Dodds had materialised further inside the building, forcing Lana to follow. She had initially thought that the plan was to buy Nathan a new pair of trousers, but when Mrs Dodds led them past the gift shop, that idea went right out the window, and Lana was back to square one and wondering  _why the hell_  they were back in the museum. Further and further into the museum they went, back past the familiar exhibits, until finally they were back at the Greek and Roman section.

Lana paused uncertainly, shifting uncomfortably. There was no one else around – the last person she'd seen had been back at some painting of grass – which made her uncomfortable. Mrs Dodds was a short distance in front of her, staring at a frieze of the Greek gods. Now, that would have been fine, normal even, if not for the weird growling noises emitting from her. Lana resisted the urge to back away, forced herself to stand still.

"You've been causing problems for us," she said, finally turning around. Her dark eyes were glinting in the bright overhead lights. "Confess, Atalanta Jackson, and suffer less pain."

Lana blinked. "Huh?" she asked, confused. She couldn't think of anything that she had done recently to warrant a confession. Sure, she hadn't  _exactly_  read the book that Mr Nicoll had assigned for his class, but she'd gotten one page into  _Lord of the Flies_  before deciding it was a lost cause. And by deciding it was a lost cause, that meant that she got her essay on it from the internet.

Mrs Dodds glared harder. "Well?" she demanded, crossing her arms.

"I'm very confused," Lana said honestly, shifting uneasily. She didn't know what to expect in response to that – the usual response tended to be varying degrees of 'stop being lazy'. It didn't quite happen that way.

Instead, Lana watched as Mrs Dodds contorted, her eyes glowing hot red like traffic lights. Her entire body warped, and her fingers became long, twisted talons, and her ever-present leather jacket folded into a pair of leathery wings. Lana let out a noise similar to a quiet squeak, because Mrs Dodds most certainly wasn't a pre-algebra teacher. She was about to start slicing and dicing, starting with Lana.

Before Lana had time to think, Mrs Dodds – Mrs Hag? – let out a terrifying shriek that made the fine hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. Mrs Dodds lunged forwards, and Lana barely managed to dive to the side in time to avoid being sent careening into the wall by Mrs Whatevershewas. A slice of hot air passed by her cheek, almost unbearably hot and Lana knew that if she had come into contact with it, she would absolutely be barbequed.

A flurry of movement from the start of the Greek and Roman section caught her eye, and Lana stared in amazement as Mr Brunner appeared, rolling up in his motorised wheelchair glory. Only a small part of her brain wondered how he'd moved through the museum in less than a minute, when before he'd been sat at the bottom of the steps outside.

"Lana!" She looked towards his yell, and Mr Brunner threw something towards her. It looked like a pen, but when she caught it, it transformed into a gleaming sword. Turning quickly, Lana faced Mrs Screechums.

Mrs Dodds was staring at her with a murderous look in her eye, and Lana swallowed down any fear, forcing the calm to the forefront. She held the sword ready. Her breath came out heavy and laboured. Mrs Dodds opened those gigantic wings, let out another of those horrifying screeches, and lunged forward again, her talons aimed at Lana's throat.

In that moment, time seemed to slow down, and there was a niggling feeling in the back of Lana's head, familiar yet not. Standing there, shaking so badly that the sword nearly slipped from her hands, she let the feeling guide her. Before she could think about what she was doing, Lana started quietly singing  _Simple Man_ , the first song that popped into her head.

Mrs Dodds's movements slowed to a stop, and she simply stared at Lana. Her expression seemed to blank, losing all of the rage and malice it had held before. The guiding feeling told Lana to keep singing, so she did, trying to keep her voice from wavering in fear. After a moment, Mrs Dodds's eyes slowly slipped closed.

Not daring to stop in her singing, Lana shakily raised the sword and swung it towards her demon maths teacher. Immediately, she began to crumble into fine yellow dust, the smell of sulphur lingering in the air, the room oddly silent. Lana trembled, and slowly sank to the ground, trying to wrap her mind around it.

In her hand, there was a ballpoint pen. There was no one else there besides her. Lana glanced back to where the powder had been, only to find that it had vanished. She let out a heavy breath, shaking her head. It was too much.

As quickly as she could, she made her way back outside, back down the steps towards the fountain. Nathan Bobofit was still standing there, face sour. Upon seeing Lana approach, he said, "I hope Mrs Kerr wrecked you."

Lana blinked, confused for what seemed like the umpteenth time that day. Who was Mrs Kerr? She voiced that question, and Nathan just rolled his eyes and went off with his friends. Lana watched them leave, trying to control the trembling in her hands, and turned to Grover.

"Yo," she greeted, raising a hand in a half-wave. She thought about asking where Mrs Dodds was, but her mind kept flashing back to the sword passing through her neck – the sword that Lana had been holding, had swung. She shivered, hoped that it wasn't visible. She'd also caught a glimpse of yellow dust on her hoodie sleeve when she'd waved at Grover, something that had her stomach churning. Hastily, she shoved her hands back into her pocket.

Thunder boomed overhead, the sky having darkened with the approaching storm she'd seen before. Grover looked up at it nervously, then looked at Lana. "Everything okay with Mrs Kerr?" he asked, tone normal enough. Lana mentally narrowed her eyes. She might have believed that Grover thought Mrs Kerr – whoever that was – was a real person, if not for the fact that he paused.

Lana didn't push the issue. "Yeah." She looked around, and spotted Mr Brunner sitting at the base of the wheelchair ramp, where he'd been sitting before she and Mrs Dodds had gone into the museum. Muttering some excuse to Grover, she quickly made her way over to Mr Brunner, hands still deep in her pockets.

Mr Brunner looked up at her approach, expression distracted. "Yes, Miss Jackson?"

"Sir, where's Mrs Dodds?" Lana asked. She tried to ignore the grainy feel of yellow dust on her hands, balled her hands up into fists.

Instead of a logical, reasonable answer like she'd been expecting, Mr Brunner just stared blankly. "Who?" he asked delicately. Lana repeated her question, with some elaboration, and his expression became concerned. "Lana, there is no Mrs Dodds here. There has never been a Mrs Dodds at Yancy Academy." Lana just stared at him, the thunder overhead booming in her ears, the wind blowing against her face. "Are you feeling quite alright?"


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for the lovely comments and feedback on the last chapter! Apologies for the lack of updates - I've been quite busy, and I also wrote myself into a corner and couldn't work out how to continue, so. Yeah. I have also been super anxious about updating this.
> 
> Some people have asked about the storyline - I am trying to follow the original story to a point, but things will also start changing when Lana reaches camp. A couple of people have also asked about whether there will be shipping. Short answer? Probably. Long answer? I have an idea of what I want to do, but I'll see how it plays out.
> 
> So, yeah. Hopefully this turned out okay!

Lana had gone through plenty of weird experiences, so she liked to think that she was used to them. However, there was a big difference between 'accidentally setting off a cannon' and 'a teacher just up and vanishing'. In the days and weeks that followed the trip to the museum, the entire campus seemed to be playing one huge joke on her. For whatever reason, all of the kids and all of the teachers were convinced that Mrs Kerr – some blonde woman that Lana had never even seen before the museum trip – had been the pre-algebra teacher since the beginning of the year. Lana had no idea where Mrs Kerr had even  _come_  from, since she'd just appeared on that day.

Because everyone seemed to genuinely believe that Mrs Dodds had never existed, Lana might have believed that as well, if not for a couple of things.

Grover was the first of them. Whenever she'd ask about Mrs Dodds, try to catch him out in the refectory (his zone of weakness), Grover would hesitate very briefly before claiming that she didn't exist.

There was something else, as well. Ever since the museum trip, Lana had had the ballpoint pen that Mr Brunner had thrown to her during her fight with Mrs Dodds. She'd forgotten to give it back to him, and she'd just put it next to her bed in her dorm room. For whatever reason, she felt an odd connection to it. Her hoodie that she had worn that day still had bits of golden powder on it – mainly on the sleeves and torso – and a faint smell of sulphur. Lana had sat on the ground, staring at the two objects in confusion. Something in her brain was telling her that nothing had happened that day, but she couldn't connect that with the yellow powder, with the mysterious pen.

That night, Lana had woken up drenched in cold sweat, trembling from the visions of leathery wings and twisted talons still rushing through her mind. Immediately, she had shoved both the pen and hoodie in one of her bags. The nightmares didn't stop.

As the nightmares continued to plague her at night, Lana became irritable during the day, jittery even. Almost as though it could sense her growing discontent, the freakish weather continued on in the background. One night, after a particularly harrowing vision of Mrs Dodds dissolving into dust, a thunderstorm blew out her window. There was a massive tornado a few days after that, not far from Yancy.

It was only inevitable that her grades would follow the fall of her moods, really. Lana finally snapped in her English class; Mr Nicoll had been hounding her about why she had been too lazy to bother studying for all of her spelling tests and whatnot. Lana, having had very little sleep the night before, immediately told him he was a  _branleur_. What it meant exactly, Lana wasn't sure, but the word had popped into her head in her brief moment of sleeplessness-induced rage. It was almost worth it just to see the intense look of confusion on Mr Nicoll's face, because  _he_  didn't know what it meant, either.

When he looked it up during class, though, he was less than pleased.

After that, the school had sent a letter home to Lana's mother, informing her that unfortunately, Lana would not be invited back to Yancy next year. That was fine with her. After everything that had happened in the last few weeks, she desperately wanted to be back with her mum, in their tiny apartment on the Upper East Side. She'd even put up with her stepfather for the chance to be around her mother. It wasn't like she'd miss anything from Yancy, anyway.

Well, she amended to herself quietly as she sat with Grover, staring at a book and willing it to make sense, there would be some things that she'd miss, she supposed. Like the view of the Hudson River, the smell of the pine trees. Grover, too. He was her best friend, and the only boy who had never made her feel bad about herself or looked down on her. She'd miss Mr Brunner's classes, too – the eclectic, fast paced nature of his teaching and his joking around, the way he had gone out of his way to make it easier for her to learn.

Her resolve strengthened, she looked back down at the book again. If she was going to study for  _any_  exam, it would be Latin.

That night, as she was leafing through the  _Cambridge Guide to Greek Mythology_ , her frustration reached another boiling point. Mostly, it came from the fact that the letters kept drifting off the page, thus bringing about headaches. Flicking through, she'd caught a glimpse of a picture, a photo of a Greek vase depicting a horrifying bat-like figure that looked far too familiar. Before she could linger on it, Lana slammed the book shut, threw it across the room.

For a moment, she just sat there, tapping her fingers restlessly against her duvet. The bobble that had been holding her hair back all day was beginning to loosen, stray strands tickling her shoulders and neck. For a moment, Lana just breathed, thought about Mr Brunner's thousand-year-old eyes. The way he'd said that it was vitally important to life – the difference between life and death – had stuck with Lana. Another deep breath to clear her head, and she slowly picked up the book.

Lana had never asked for help from a teacher before – having never had one willing to actually  _help_  her before, she'd given up on that immediately. However, Mr Brunner was different. Maybe he could steer her in a direction in which to revise, or even give her a pep talk.

Mind made up, Lana quickly rushed out of her dorm room, and made her way through the darkened labyrinth of the school corridors. The classrooms lay dark and empty, the faculty offices in a similar state of disuse. Lana tried to ignore the hairs rising on the back of her neck. She always felt weird being in a school in the evening, or at night. It felt like it was tempting fate; Lana honestly wouldn't be surprised if around the next corner, there was a Japanese schoolgirl ghost waiting to mess up her life.

Finally, she was at the door to Mr Brunner's office. To her relief, the light was still on, and she was about to knock when voices drifted out.

Normally, Lana would have just left in order to avoid interrupting anything. She'd rather face down the Japanese schoolgirl ghost than the social anxiety of interrupting a meeting. She was just turning to leave when she caught Grover's voice drifting out.

"… worried about Lana, sir."

Lana froze at the mention of her name, everything in her seeming to go on high alert. Barely daring to breathe, she edged closer to the door, pressing herself against the wall.

"… this summer," Grover continued, "Not after the Kindly One!" He let out a frustrated noise. "They've gotta know now. I mean,  _we_  know now–"

"To rush things would make things worse," Mr Brunner replied. "She's not ready, yet."

"But sir, the summer solstice! The deadline–"

" _Can_  be resolved without her," Mr Brunner interrupted gently. "Let her enjoy her ignorance."

There was the sound of footsteps moving back and forth, as though someone was pacing. "She saw her, though!"

"A daydream," Mr Brunner said dismissively. "The Mist over the school will convince her of that."

Mist? What was Mr Brunner talking about? So far as Lana knew, there hadn't been any sudden blankets of mist or fog around Yancy lately – all their freakish weather tended to be storms. Realising she was getting off track again, she forcibly pulled her mind back from where it had wandered, just in time to hear Grover say, "… I can't fail my duties again. You know what that means."

Mr Brunner sighed, but when he spoke, it was with the same kind tone he used with Lana when she was having a particularly hard time. "You haven't failed, Grover," he said gently. "She hid herself well. Now, let's just worry about keeping Lana alive."

Shock coursed through Lana's system, like her blood had suddenly been replaced with icy water. The mythology book dropped from her hand, landing with a solid  _thunk_  on the floor. Immediately, the conversation inside the room ceased. Trying to control her mounting panic, Lana quickly picked up the book and retreated further down the hallway, hiding in the shadow of a nearby bin. There was a slow  _clip-clop_  sound, edging closer to where Lana had hidden herself, and she felt her heart begin to pound against her ribcage, almost painfully. The noises stopped, only a short distance away from her, and she risked a glance at the floor – on the ground, there was a shadow of something huge. Lana slowly, shakily, exhaled.

A moment, and the giant whatever began to move in the other direction. Lana heard Mr Brunner say something to Grover about a winter solstice as he disappeared back into his office. Wasting no time, Lana cautiously stood up and sneaked away from Mr Brunner's office, keeping to the shadows until she was far enough away that he would not hear her.

Then, she ran back to her dorm room, trying to absorb the information she had accidentally heard. No matter which way she looked at it, though, Lana couldn't make sense of it, and couldn't reconcile the giant shadowy something with Mr Brunner's voice.

She sighed. Her head was really starting to hurt.

The next day was the three-hour Latin exam. Lana left it with yet another headache, the pain pulsing behind her eyes as the words she had spelt wrong swirled around her mind – the beginnings of a migraine. Just as she was getting to the door, Mr Brunner called her back to his desk. Lana hesitated for a moment – the only thing that he could possibly want to talk to her about was the whole eavesdropping thing from the night before.

"Look, Lana," he said quietly, once she was standing on the other side of his desk. His voice was quiet enough to not carry to the rest of the class. "Don't be discouraged about leaving Yancy. This place – it isn't the best place for you."

Lana swallowed heavily. "Right. Okay, sir," she mumbled. A sharp pain bit at her chest. Mr Brunner had always supported her through the year, had earned the status of being her favourite teacher, and yet he was telling her that she didn't belong at Yancy? She blinked, ignoring the stinging assaulting her eyes.

"No, no," Mr Brunner said gently. He looked frustrated with himself. "What I meant to say is, you're not normal, Lana." His face twisted. "There's nothing to be ashamed of."

Lana nodded jerkily, ignoring the sudden influx of pain that the motion caused, taking a shuddering breath. It suddenly hurt to breathe. "Thanks, sir," she said, slightly biting. Before Mr Brunner could say anything else, Lana turned and fled from the classroom.

The end of term couldn't come fast enough. Lana waited until the very last day to sort out her packing, tiredly shoving clothes into a suitcase. As much as she might miss the view from her dorm room, she couldn't wait to be rid of the place – her nightmares had continued to get worse since the end of the exams and seeing her mother again could possibly help with it. Even if that meant seeing her stepfather every day as the price, she added to herself bitterly.

Around her, she could hear the other girls discussing their plans for the summer holidays. One of them was going on a hike in Switzerland with their family. Another was taking a cruise down the Norwegian fjords. Lana grimaced, and quickly moved past them, their words fading into the background. Sure, they were troublemakers, like Lana herself, but the difference was that they had rich families. Lana had none of that. She was just some adopted kid, her birth parents as much a mystery to her as her stepfather's ability to breathe without choking on his own scent. Not that she cared much for the whole 'adopted' thing – Sally was the only mother she'd ever known, and she loved her more than words could describe.

It wasn't going to be hard saying goodbye to Yancy, Lana concluded to herself as she pulled her suitcase outside the main doors, watching the quiet street before her. She would miss Grover, though. He'd been one of the best friends she'd ever made – scratch that, the  _only_  friend she'd ever made. How he was going to survive the next year at Yancy, Lana didn't know – the thoughts of him having to face Nathan Bobofit alone caused anxiety attacks.

Just as she was about to start walking to the bus stop, ready to go back into the city, a voice called out to her. "Hey, Lana!" She turned towards the sound and raised her eyebrows as she saw Grover practically running towards her, crutches apparently forgotten. Speak of the devil and he shall appear, she mused to herself idly.

Grover pulled to a stop next to her, breathing heavily from his brief bout of exercise. A moment passed, Lana standing there feeling only moderately awkward, and Grover straightened up, leaning heavily on the crutches. "Are you getting the Greyhound back into the city?" he asked, despite the fact that Lana was clearly headed towards the stop for said coach. Lana nodded slowly, and Grover let out a heavy exhale. "Good. I mean, I'm heading that way too. Using the same coach."

Lana nodded again, keeping her face impassive. She quickly thought back to the conversation she'd overheard between Grover and Mr Brunner. Part of her wanted to think that his getting on the same bus as she wasn't just convenient timing. No way would Grover buying tickets on the exact coach that she was getting be considered a coincidence. Grover was still staring at her with an impassioned expression, so Lana sighed. "Okay," she agreed, ignoring the flash of relief that passed through Grover's eyes.

The coach arrived only a few moments after, and Lana quickly shoved her suitcase into the hold, climbed up the steep steps – did they seriously have to make them so steep? That was, like, small person discrimination – and took the window seat nearest the other door. Grover joined her a few moments later, making his way slowly down the aisle. He sat next to her, placed his crutches in front of him so they were leaning against the barrier between them and the other steps.

Lana leaned her head against the window, the low rumble of the engine coursing through her as the coach began to draw away from the school. She cast her eyes on Yancy for one last time, kept staring at it until it was just another building in the distance. Once it was far gone, she turned her gaze back to Grover, keeping her head leant against the cool glass of the window and trying to ignore the steady churning of her stomach.

He kept looking around nervously, his nose twitching whenever his gaze landed on another passenger. Grover had always been jumpy on school trips, as though he was constantly expecting something terrible to happen. Lana's mind involuntarily flashed back to Mrs Dodds, an echo of soft singing in the background, and she forcibly pushed the image away.

The silence stretched on for another long moment, and even through her growing travel sickness, Lana was beginning to feel antsy. Finally, she snapped and asked, coolly, "Find any Kindly Ones yet?"

Grover jumped like he'd been electrocuted, and he slowly turned his head to look at her. His expression mirrored a deer caught in the headlights. "Wha–what do you mean?" he asked nervously, shifting in his seat.

Lana turned sheepish. "I heard you talking to Brunner the other night. The night before his Latin exam," she added at the confused look, and Grover paled.

"Ah… how much did you hear?" he asked, eye twitching.

Lana shrugged idly. Considering Grover and Mr Brunner had let her think she was going insane rather than telling her  _anything_ , she was going to draw this out. " _Pfft_ , I don't know. Not much. What's the summer solstice?"

Grover winced, not meeting Lana's eyes as he fiddled with a loose string on his hoodie. "Look, I was just worried for you. I mean, hallucinating demon maths teachers?" Lana tried to interrupt him, but Grover carried on as though she hadn't spoken. "So I was telling Mr Brunner that I thought you were over-stressed, because clearly there's no such person as Mrs Dodds."

"Grover," Lana interrupted again, making her voice gentle, "you're a bad liar."

Grover's face turned red, and he coughed. Quickly, he reached into the pocket of his shirt and pulled out what looked like a business card. What he was doing with business cards when he was at school, Lana had no idea. He handed it to Lana, who took it hesitantly. "In case you need to contact me over summer," he said when Lana turned her dubious expression towards him. Still dubious, she looked at it.

The card was written entirely in fancy schmancy looping script. That meant that reading the words on the card was absolute hell on her dyslexic eyes. After a moment of squinting at it, and tilting the card to examine it from different angles, she could vaguely make out;

_Grover Underwood_

_Keeper_

_Half-Blood Hill_

_Long Island, New York_

_(800) 009 0009_

She looked up at Grover again, once again confused. "What is this?" she asked, gesturing towards the name on the card.

Grover fidgeted for a moment. "That's my – uh – summer address."

Lana felt her heart sink at that. During the entire year they'd been at Yancy together, she'd never considered the idea that Grover was from a rich family, as well. Maybe it was because he wasn't like the other kids that she'd met at Yancy? Before she could dwell on it further, Grover said, "Just take it, yeah? In case you need me."

Lana nodded, pocketing the card. "Right. Yeah."

Grover turned red again, and he picked at the loose string again. If he wasn't careful, the entire thing was going to unravel. "The truth is – I kind of have to protect you."

Lana merely stared at him, nearly lifting her head away from the window. Was Grover being serious? For the entire year, she had gotten into arguments with Nathan Bobofit and the teachers to protect  _him_ , and she'd been worrying about his chances of survival there next year. One look at Grover's face told her, though, that he was in fact serious. She swallowed heavily.

"Grover," she asked lowly, "what exactly are you protecting me  _from_?" The conversation between Grover and Mr Brunner flashed through her mind again, like a scene on repeat.

Before Grover could answer her, there was a grinding sound coming from underneath the bus. Within seconds, black smoke poured into the coach through the dashboard, filling the coach with a smell like rotten eggs. Lana's stomach churned, vividly reminded of her nightmares. The driver let out a long string of curses, and slowly drove the coach over to the side of the road. He got up and off the coach, and Lana noticed him walk around the bus to where the engine was.

A few moments passed, wherein the only sounds were the mutterings of annoyed passengers and the sound of clanking around in the engine. The driver eventually announced to everyone that they had to get off the coach, although why she had no idea. Dutifully, she and Grover filed outside with everyone else, standing in the heat reluctantly.

They'd broken down on a stretch of country road, the type of road that went unnoticed, and that people would avoid at night. On their side, there was nothing but maple trees, rubbish from passing cars. Grover's nose twitched when he saw the various cans, but he said nothing. On the other side, there was what looked like an old-timey fruit stand.

The stuff being sold there looked mouth-wateringly good. Giant heaps of red and green apples, cherries, and apricots, complete with jugs of juice in a large clawfoot bath filled with ice. Oddly, there were no customers at the stall, just three old ladies sitting in wooden rocking chairs in the shade of a maple tree, knitting a gigantic pair of socks. The lady on the right knitted one of them, the lady on the left knitted the other. The lady in the middle held the basket of electric-blue yarn.

All of them looked ancient, their pale faces wrinkled like leather, bony arms sticking out of bleached cotton dresses, and silver hair held back by bandanas.

Against her better judgement, Lana took a few steps forward. She  _really_  wanted one of those apples. Behind her, she could hear Grover making panicked noises, but she paid him no mind. When she was a couple of metres away from the fruit stall, the three ladies looked at her. Despite the heat emanating off the road, Lana felt a chill go down her spine.

"Er, hi," she said awkwardly, shoving her hands in her pockets to hide her nervousness. "Could I get one of those apples, please?"

The women continued to stare at her. A moment passed, and the lady on the right began to speak. " _Atalanta Jackson_ ," she said lowly, her voice almost a grating sound. Lana froze – she rarely told anyone her full name, so why did these ladies know it?

The lady on the left started talking. " _Greek and Roman both_."

" _A half-blood of the eldest gods_ ," rasped the one in the middle. The entire time, their eyes never left Lana. The lady in the middle brought out a pair of scissors – huge things with silver and gold blades – and she brought them to the yarn. She cut the thread of yarn, and the  _snip_  that echoed from it seemed to permeate Lana's very bones. Her two friends began rolling up the giant socks.

Somewhere behind her, she heard the engine of the coach roar back to life – whatever the driver had done, it had clearly worked – and with one last look towards the old knitting ladies, Lana hurried back towards the coach. She only noticed, then, that she had one of the shining red apples in her hand, despite having no memory of picking it up. She quickly climbed back onto the coach, took her seat and rested her head on the window.

As they started moving again, she started feeling feverish. Beside her, Grover didn't look any better, pale faced and teeth chattering.

"Grover?" she asked hesitantly.

"Yeah?"

"What are you not telling me?"

Grover shot her a nervous look and dabbed at his forehead with his sleeve. "What did you see? At the fruit stand, I mean?" There was something in his face that reminded Lana of the brief flashes she'd seen in his eyes whenever she mentioned Mrs Dodds. Hesitantly, she recounted her experience at the fruit stand, watching Grover turn pale with each word. When she got to the point where she was telling him about the middle lady cutting the thread, Grover closed his eyes, made a strange gesture with his fingers that looked almost like someone crossing themselves, except far older. "You saw her cut it."

"I–yeah." She tried to make her tone nonchalant, but even then she could see that it was a big deal, even if she didn't know how exactly. Grover muttered to himself, looking like he was close to an anxiety attack.

"Just like last time," she heard him say, eyes flicking about. "Always age twelve. They never get past it."

Lana tried to edge away from him, even if the only place to go was into the window. "Grover, what's going on?" she asked, voice shaking slightly. With the way he was starting to act, all freaked out, it was starting to scare her.

Grover ran an anxious hand down his face and turned to look at her, eyes wide. "Look – just let me walk you home from the station. Promise me."

If it was any other person asking that, Lana would have rejected it immediately, because she was perfectly capable of taking care of herself. Grover's expression stayed her tongue, though, and she promised him that yes, he could walk her home. They lapsed back into awkward, anxious silence, and eventually Lana found the courage to speak again.

"That snipping of the thread," she began lowly, a memory of her Greek mythology studies rising to the forefront of her mind, "does it mean that someone's going to die, Grover?"

Grover didn't reply, just stared at her mournfully. If Lana didn't know any better, she would say that he was already picking out which flowers would look best on her coffin. She only hoped that he would pick forget-me-nots for her hypothetical funeral.

* * *

Somewhere else, somewhere beyond the reach of the gods, titans, and primordials all, three old women gathered together, sat before a golden basket of sea green yarn at the base of an endless tree, betwixt the twisted roots. As they sat, their faces were continually flickering, moving from the faces of old, wizened women to the faces of ladies still in their youth. A short distance from them stood a well, surrounded by seemingly endless sand.

The woman on the right was slowly spinning the yarn into thread, humming softly as she worked. Beside her, the woman in the middle was slowly measuring out the spun thread, whilst the woman on the left watched with unreadable eyes, the shears lying beside her.

The first woman, Clotho, paused in her humming. "An ancient law, broken."

The second woman, Lachesis, nodded slowly in agreement. "The mixing of the eastern and western bloodlines."

The last of the women, Atropos, took part of the thread in one hand, and in the other appeared what seemed to be a cord composed of different coloured threads, each interwoven with the others. "The godling, half Greek in blood," she rasped, "shall reach sixteen against all odds." Her two companions started humming, and the sea green thread glowed gold for a moment, before infusing itself with the interwoven cord.

Slowly, the cord and thread both were put into the golden basket, a hint of electric blue yarn peeking out from underneath. The three old women continued to hum, and they began to spin another coloured yarn into another thread, the shears glinting beside Atropos.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Little cameo by Yggdrasil and the Norns at the end there. Since all the gods of all the pantheons exist together at the same time, I like to think that the Moirai/Parcae are also the Norns from Norse mythology.
> 
> 'Branleur' apparently means 'wanker'. Apologies if my French is off.
> 
> I also had to look up what a 'Greyhound' is. From what I can gather, it seems to be similar to National Express and Eurolines, so I kinda based that part on those.
> 
> Hopefully this was okay though - please let me know your thoughts!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey lovelies, my apologies for the lack of chapters lately! (They may continue to be sporadic for a bit.) I've had a few health issues and a dissertation to do and it's been generally hectic. To the people who have left lovely reviews, and those who just like this, you have my eternal love and gratitude. 
> 
> Anyway, I hope this turned out okay!

Even though Lana had said that Grover could walk her home, the reality was that she ditched him as soon as they got to the coach station. Grover had been acting weirdly ever since the fruit stand incident, and if she was being honest, it was starting to scare her. The fact that he kept looking at Lana like he expected her to drop down dead in front of him only made things worse. So, when Grover said that he needed to use the bathroom – Lana wasn't surprised at that. Whenever he got stressed, he always needed to use the bathroom – Lana had left the moment he was out of eye-and-earshot. Wasting no time, she hopped in a taxi with her suitcase and started the final leg of her trip home uptown.

"East One-hundred-and fourth and First," she said to the taxi driver, then leaned against the window as they set off, thoughts drifting to seeing her mother again.

There was probably no better person on the Earth than Sally Jackson, in Lana's completely unbiased opinion. Despite the fact that she wasn't Lana's mother by blood, she had still raised her with all the love in the world, even when any other foster parent probably would have given up on even trying. Thinking of all of the good that she had done, it made Lana clench her fists as she thought about all of the terrible luck that her mum had been cursed with. She'd had a not-so-great childhood – her own parents died in a plane crash – and had been forced to drop out of high school in order to help her ailing uncle.

Still, somewhere along the way, she had met Lana's birth parents. Her mum always spoke fondly, even reverently, of them, despite having not seen them in twelve years. Lana herself couldn't remember them – they might as well have been a fuzzy idea in the back of her mind. She never asked her mother what had happened to them, though. Whenever they came close to that subject, her mother always looked sad.

She had gone above and beyond a normal foster parent. She always worked odd jobs whilst taking night classes in order to gain her high school diploma, whilst raising Lana by herself. Eventually, she met Gabe Ugliano and married him. The guy had seemed nice enough at first, but the moment her mother and he were married, he began to show his true colours as a world class shithead. For whatever reason, the guy always smelt like mouldy garlic bread wrapped in drying swimming trunks, which seemed to be the result of his personality. He treated Lana's mother horribly, and the way that she and him argued? Well, Lana wasn't surprised he smelt so bad.

After getting out of the taxi and hauling her suitcase into the apartment building, into the lift and onto their floor, Lana was at the door to their apartment. She unlocked the door and merely walked in, only gagging from the smell once. Her stepfather, Smelly Gabe, was sat in the living room with his equally awful poker buddies, apparently hosting a poker party. Lana barely managed to restrain herself from growling at the mess strewn across the floor.

Gabe didn't look up from his cards, but he pulled the cigar away from his mouth. "You're home," he acknowledged, rather pointlessly. Why else would she be here?

Lana made a noncommittal noise. "Where's mum?"

"Working," he replied, finally lifting his eyes to look at her. Judging by the redness in his eyes, Lana would guess that he had been drinking for a good couple of hours, maybe from when he'd woken up. "You have any money?"

Of course that was all he cared about. He didn't ask how she'd been for the last few months – all he wanted was money. Lana merely tilted her chin up slightly as she regarded him. He'd put on weight, she noticed idly, and had combed his two solitary hairs over his balding head in an attempt to look handsome. As always, his vest top was covered in beer stains and crisp crumbs, a testament to what he'd evidently spent all of his time doing. It was a wonder he ever had any money left to buy anything, given that he spent it all on gambling. Probably why he expected her, a child, to provide his funds. Lana didn't even dare tell her mother. Gabe had made it very clear that he would be quite displeased if she did.

Lana shrugged at him, dragging her mind back to the present. Normally, Gabe could sniff out money that was hidden in a pile of paper kilometres away, "Nope, sorry," she said, very unapologetically. "Don't have any money." She added some force in the undertones to the last part. Gabe narrowed his eyes at her for a long moment, before turning back to his greasy friends with a vague noise.

"Whatever," he muttered, a clear dismissal if there ever was one. Lana stared at him for a moment, confused – Gabe had  _always_  managed to find any money she had on her, so what made this time different? – before taking the offered escape and heading to her room.

Her bedroom was the only part of the apartment that didn't smell like cigarettes, beer, and pizza. Gabe had wanted to use it as his study during the months when Lana was away at school, but her mother had told him no, absolutely not, young girls need their own space. The threat of refusing to cook for him had worn Gabe down, so Lana's room had remained her own. Shutting the door behind her, Lana dropped the suitcase on the floor, and flopped down onto the bed.

God, just being in the same room as Gabe was enough to make her think of the nightmares. The ever-present stench that seemed to linger around him was almost worse than the visions of Mrs Dodds, or the sound of the giant scissors snipping thread. Thinking about the latter made a chill go up Lana's spine, and a feeling like a shadow was watching her passed through her, like something was waiting to rip her to shreds.

And then, "Lana?"

Lana's fears melted away. It was her mother, opening her bedroom door. Nothing else mattered.

Sally Jackson somehow had the magical, almost godlike, ability to make Lana feel better just by being in the same room as her. She gave off waves of calming energy, a soothing salve to the chaos that always seemed to be storming in her mind. When she looked at Lana, it was always with the softest expression, like she could only see the good things about her, none of the ugly.

Her mother had crossed the room in a flash, sitting on the bed beside Lana and pulling her in for a tight hug. "Oh sweetie," she murmured, her voice somewhere near Lana's ear. "You've grown so  _much_  since Christmas."

Lana let her head rest on her mother's shoulder, the smells of a thousand different kinds of sweets tickling the inside of her nose. For a moment, she simply lingered there, letting her mother be a grounding presence against the chaos. A moment, and she pulled away, her mother continuing to stroke her hair softly as she retrieved a bag of sweets with her free hand.

As she dug into the bag, her mum continued to sit next to her on the bed, asking about all of the things that had happened to Lana since Christmas, wanting to know everything that may have slipped her mind when she'd written her letters. Nothing came up about the expulsion.

The tight ache that had been in Lana's chest since the trip to the museum seemed to ease a bit, breathing coming easier until –

"Hey, Sally – where's that bean dip?" Gabe's obnoxiously grating voice cut through their conversation. Lana's jaw clenched.

Her mother, adoptive or not, was the nicest person in the world. She deserved the world, not Gabe.

A look from her, though, and Lana sighed, began recounting the last few months of her time at Yancy. "It wasn't bad there," she said, forcing some upbeat cheer into her tone. "I mean, I lasted nearly a whole year, yeah? And I made a friend!" At the thought of Grover, her stomach twisted uncomfortably, and she quickly hurried past that before she could linger too long on that thought. "Plus, I actually did pretty decently in Latin!"

This mystical spin on her year at Yancy almost convinced Lana, had her re-evaluating the last few months. "And I–" She cut herself off sharply, thoughts of the trip to the museum, of Mrs Dodds and fiery red eyes, an explosion of golden dust, leaking into her mind's eye.

Her mum gave her another look, this one almost calculating. Her eyes seemed to bore into Lana's soul, lifting out any and all secrets that may be sequestered away. "Has something scared you?"

"… no, mum."

A long look from her mother was the indicator that she knew that Lana was holding something back. Thankfully, though, she didn't press for details, and instead continued to idly stroke her hair.

"I have a surprise for you," she said instead, voice soft. "We're going on holiday – to the beach."

Lana felt her breath catch in her throat. "Montauk?" she asked, barely daring to hope as she searched her mum's eyes. It had been over two years since they'd been to Montauk, since they could even  _consider_  going back there. Gabe had always strongly discouraged it, saying that there wasn't enough money for frivolous spending like a weekend break. Then, he'd always said that whilst hosting his poker parties, so it was pretty suspect. No wonder they didn't have any money.

Her mum nodded, smiling softly. "Three nights. Same cabin."

Lana felt the hope balloon inside her chest, and she felt like she might float away from the excitement bubbling there. "When?"

"Just as soon as I'm changed."

Before Lana could launch into excited babbling, Gabe and his monstrous smell appeared in the doorway. Immediately, his near-sentient stench seemed to fill the entire room with its pungency. To her credit, her mother barely flinched or so much as acknowledged him.

"Didn't you hear me, Sally?" he growled, scratching at his neck. "Bean dip."

"I was just on my way. We were just talking about the trip," her mum said evenly, no sound or sign of impatience anywhere. She had the patience of a saint, truly.

Gabe narrowed his eyes at them, beady eyes turning into cartoonish pinpricks. "Oh," he said blandly, hand on his neck lowering back down to his side. "You were serious about that, huh?"

Lana grit her teeth, turning her face away so Gabe wouldn't see her stare. "Of course he's not gonna let us go," she muttered in an irritated aside, casting Gabe a dirty look through her hair. Not that he could see it, with his tiny eyes still squinting at them. "Why would he do something decent?"

"Don't worry, he'll let us go," her mother said, tone as steady and unwavering as a mountain. "Gabe is just worried about money, aren't you honey?" She didn't wait for Gabe to give her an answer, already talking before he'd even opened his mouth to protest, loudly. "He won't have to settle for just the bean dip – he'll be getting his favourite seven-layer dip, enough to last the whole weekend."

Lana's admiration for her mother, which was already enough to fill an entire football stadium, increased yet again. She watched Gabe's face soften the slightest bit, and the knowledge of her mother's cunning side was reinforced.

"So about the money for this trip," Gabe began, scratching his wispy chin, "it'll be coming out of your clothes budget, right?"

That was where she drew the line. Before her mum could answer him, probably reassure him that yes, she would be giving up her clothes budget for this, Lana jumped in with a half-growled, "No, it won't be. It's coming out of your precious gambling fund."

The moment the words left her mouth, Lana recognised the undercurrent of force and  _power_  infused into her tone, meticulously woven into each word. It had the same feeling as her remark to Gabe when she'd first gotten in. Her mother shot her a sharp look, but Gabe didn't seem to notice anything different. He merely regarded them for another second, then huffed with an irritated, "Whatever. Just don't get my car damaged. You'll take it there, then bring it back."

Her mother nodded, almost sagely. "Yes, dear. Of course."

With one last scratch of his chin, Gabe made a noise. "Fine, just hurry up and make that seven-layer dip before you go."

There were a number of things that Lana wanted to say to Gabe, most of them less than complimentary. A look from her mother, however, made her hold her tongue. She understood what the look meant: just a bit longer, and they would be free of Gabe for three whole days. Her mother turned back to Gabe with a smile and a nod, and Gabe stomped out of her room with all of the grace of an elephant wearing five metre tall stilts.

Her mother turned her face back to Lana. For the briefest moment, there was a flash of  _something_  in her eyes, something that Lana couldn't quite identify. It almost looked similar to the look that she'd seen in Grover's eyes. If she didn't know any better, she'd have said that it looked almost like fear, but that didn't make any sense – why would her mother, the fiercest person that Lana had ever known, be afraid? The moment passed, though, and the flicker vanished as her mother gave her a soft smile. She cupped Lana's cheek, a familiar comfort that she never got tired of.

"Start packing," she said, gesturing pointedly towards the case that Lana had haphazardly thrown against the wall. "I'll be ready to go soon."

She got up and left the room, presumably to tend to Gabe and his piggish ways, and Lana started sorting through her things. An hour later, she and her mother were standing outside the shabby apartment building next to Gabe's car. Their cases had been piled in the boot, and it was all Lana could do to stop herself from rocking back and forth on her heels.

Gabe had managed to tear himself away from his poker party and his undeserved seven-layer dip long enough to watch them drag their cases down the stairs, all without lifting a finger to help, of course. Her mother hadn't said anything about it, so Lana had settled for casting him dirty looks with the occasional muttered curse. Once at the car, Gabe had then started complaining about losing her mum's cooking and, most importantly of all, his Camaro, for the entire weekend.

Oh no. Boo hoo, Gabe.

He stomped over with his usual amount of grace and whilst her mum's back was turned, checking the boot of the car, Gabe leaned down. Lana recoiled at the smell radiating off him – it was almost in waves, and no matter how long she had been exposed to it, it never got any better.

"I'm warning you," he growled lowly, the warning tone clear in his voice, "any scratch on that car, any  _little_  scratch, and I'm not gonna be happy."

Lana swallowed, but she refused to let herself show the trepidation she really felt. Forcing her face to a mask of indifference, she flicked her eyes to Gabe's and said, "Sure. Just go back to your game."

Gabe once again narrowed his eyes at her, but after a few seconds, turned and started lumbering back towards the building without complaint. Another second, and Lana placed her hand over her chest in an unconscious motion, replicated the position that she'd seen Grover make it take, and pushed it outwards. Like an invisible wind sweeping through the empty street, Gabe was suddenly swept off his feet, sent flying into the apartment building with the door slamming behind him.

Her mother appeared, staring at Gabe and the door with wide eyes. "What the -"

Lana all but leapt into the passenger seat. "Let's go," she said quickly, relieved when her mother seemed to share her sentiment. Once in the car, they were off before Gabe had even clambered back to his feet and speeding towards Montauk.

Their cabin was way out at the end of Long Island, a small pastel box, with faded colours in the curtains from the long days in the sun, that was half sunken into the surrounding sand dunes. For whatever reason, sand always managed to find its way into the place, sequestering itself into the sheets and in the cupboards with the spiders.

Lana loved it. There was no place she loved more in the world than Montauk.

This place had been their go-to place for holidays and short breaks ever since she was a baby. Her mum had been going there for even longer – it was the place where she'd first met Lana's father and had become friends with him.

It was late when they got there, the sun beginning to dip behind the horizon and casting hues of pink and yellow across the sky and sea, so they quickly deposited their cases into their cabin, opened all the windows, kicked their shoes off, and went for a walk along for surf. As the cool water lapped at her feet, the coiled anxiety Lana had been feeling for god knows how long began to ease. With the wind blowing softly against her, the cries of the gulls in her ears, she let the anxiety ebb away with the waves.

As the sky continued to darken to a light blue, the moon beginning to appear, Lana and her mum made their way back to the cabin and started a campfire. Under the perfect cloudless night, they roasted marshmallows, throwing some to the occasional gull that wandered close to them. Her mum began to tell stories, then – stories about her back when she was a kid, before her own parents had died in a plane crash. She told her the different ideas for the books she wanted to write, every plot and every possible twist and turn for the stories.

It was only when the sky was completely dark above them, when even the gulls had quietened down, that Lana dared ask about the thing that had been plaguing her mind. It had always eaten away at her, whenever they had come to Montauk. This trip was no different, it seemed. She asked about her birth parents.

"I was friends with your father," her mother said, holding a marshmallow over the fire, the light flickering in her eyes. "He was…" she trailed off, pausing as she searched for her next words. Lana remained silent. "… kind," her mum decided on, a small smile gracing her face. "Handsome and powerful, but somehow troubled. Like he had the weight of the ocean on his shoulders." A slight movement had her mum's hair shifting. "I think he just wanted someone to talk to so he wouldn't go insane," she smiled wryly.

Lana pondered that for a moment. There was another question she wanted to ask, but at the same time she didn't want to say the words. Her mother watched her with knowing eyes, and Lana sighed. "What about my…" she trailed off as the word got stuck in her throat, unwilling to be said aloud. Saying it aloud would make it real. She swallowed heavily and forced herself to continue. "… my mother?"

Her mum merely gave her another of those knowing looks, the looks that made Lana think that she really did know everything. Her eyes turned skyward for a brief moment. "I never knew her, but I was told that she was beautiful."

Lana was quiet again for another moment, silently digesting that information. She'd known that her mum had known her father – it was one of the few things that she'd heard about him – but she hadn't realised that her mother had been just a stranger. The thought made her uneasy.

"So you adopted a stranger's kid," Lana said blankly, quietly. She stared into the fire, not meeting her mum's eyes. "Why?" She could have done anything with her life, but instead she'd been saddled with the responsibility of a kid that wasn't even hers.

A movement on the other side of the fire made her look up. Her mum was smiling, something in it that was close to wistful. "You'll understand when you're older, love."

Lana turned her face to the stretch of sea beside them. With the sounds of the fire crackling in her ears, she watched the reflection of the moon twist and warp on the dark, glittering surface. Watched the gulls sit on the water, bobbing up and down as the waves gently rolled towards the shore, crashing against the sand with barely a sound.

"We still need to figure out what to do about school," her mum said quietly, more of a mumble than anything. She didn't sound angry about the expulsion. She prodded at the fire with a stick, her eyes seeing something far away. "It needs to be safe…"

"Safe?" Lana repeated, uncomprehending. What did her mum mean by safe? "Safe from what?"

Across that flickering fire, her mother looked up and met her eyes. Something about the look in her eyes – flashes of fear, and something else that Lana instinctively knew she didn't want to know – triggered a rush of memories. From behind a self-built wall, all of the strange, unexplainable things that had ever happened to her came rushing back like a tidal wave, things that she had tried to forget.

When she was younger, on one of their trips to Montauk, Lana had wandered out to the surf before her mum had woken up. When the waves had crashed onto the shore, she had been greeted with a pure white horse, made entirely out of sea foam. The horse had excitedly called her 'Lady', something that she hadn't understood, and had pressed its wet nose against her forehead before retreating back into the ocean.

And so many other things, creepy things that had happened at every school Lana had ever been at. Every time something happened, she had been forced to move.

Part of her wanted to tell her mum about the strange occurrences that had happened since the trip to the museum, everything from Mrs Dodds to the nightmares to the three old ladies at the fruit stand. She hesitated, though – somehow, she knew that if she opened her mouth about any of those things, their trip would come to a screeching halt.

"We'll figure something out," her mum said quietly, and Lana flicked her eyes back to her. "There was somewhere safe your parents suggested… But that might mean…" She trailed off, shaking her head.

"Might mean mean what?"

"Might mean you never leaving," her mum all but whispered, eyes glistening with unshed tears.

"What? Why?"

But her mum shook her head again, and the look in her eyes told Lana that if she continued to ask about it, she would start crying. Dutifully, she let the matter drop.

* * *

That night, her dreams were as vivid as they were disturbing.

She was standing on the beach, watching as it stormed with ferocious intent. Two animals, a pure white horse and an eagle, were battling on the edge of the water. As the horse rose to kick at the eagle, so did the waves surrounding it, the water crashing around the horse. The winds seemed to respond to the eagle – as it dived down towards the horse, talons outstretched, the winds became harsher, the lightning louder. Barely audible above the crashing of the waves and the thunderclaps, there was a voice – monstrous and cold, seeming to chuckle from beneath the earth itself.

Instinctively, Lana tried to run towards the two animals, to try and stop them fighting. Her legs refused to cooperate, though. She may as well have been running through custard for all the good it did her. She watched, helplessly, as the eagle dived down towards the horse's eyes, and she screamed.

Lana woke with a start, sitting bolt upright in her bed.

A glance towards her window told her everything that she needed to know – a storm was raging outside, just as it had been in her dream. Unlike her dream, though, there were no white horses or eagles fighting on the beach. Just lightning acting as a pseudo daytime, and waves with enough strength to tear the beach apart in their fury.

Another shuddering clap of thunder that left the ground shaking, and her mum was sitting up, awake in a flash and saying, "Hurricane," before she'd even finished opening her eyes.

That should have been crazy – Long Island never saw hurricanes at that time of the year. A lingering feeling in the back of her mind though, something residual from the dream perhaps, told her that her mother was right. The ocean, raging outside against the light of the lightning strikes, seemed to have forgotten that small point, though. As her mother quickly got up, Lana listened to the wind howling outside – over it was a distant roar, an angry sound that seemed to permeate into her very bones far more effectively than the wind chill could.

Then there was a second noise – yelling, desperate against the wind, and the sounds of something punching against the sand. Lana stared in the direction of the noise, barely daring to breathe, and nearly jumped out of her own skin when there was sudden pounding on the door.

Her mother was there in a flash, shoving the lock off and throwing the door open.

In the doorway, surrounded by the pouring rain, stood Grover. Lana stared incredulously at him – what on Earth was he doing there? And why was there something really,  _really_  off about him?

" – searching for  _hours_ ," Grover panted, leaning against the door frame with one hand. " _What were you thinking_?"

Lana might have answered him in another life, but it was as if the connection between her brain and mouth had been severed. She stared at Grover, trying to make her mind comprehend what she was seeing. That couldn't be real, right?

As the silence dragged on too long for his liking, Grover groaned out, " _O Zeu kai alloi theoi_." He turned wide, desperate eyes onto her, seeming to dig through her soul. "It's right behind me! Didn't you  _tell_  her?"

Lana didn't answer, couldn't answer. The strange disconnect between her brain and mouth seemed to grow. It was as though the storm outside had simply blown away her ability to think, leaving her mind blank. Even as she stared at Grover, she couldn't find the wits to wonder  _how_  he had found them, in the middle of the night, no less. The only thing that seemed to trickle down through the blankness was the vague but persistent observation of Grover's legs, and distinct lack of trousers.

Because he wasn't wearing them, and where his legs were  _supposed_  to be –

" _Lana_." Her mum whirled around, face lighting up as more lightning illuminated the area. Her face was stern, something in her eyes that Lana had never seen before, and when she spoke, it was with a tone that she didn't recognise. " _Tell_  me now!"

The strange spell broke, and suddenly Lana was babbling about the museum trip, stammering about Mrs Dodds and the three strange old ladies from the fruit stand. With each word, her mother seemed to lose all colour, leaving her bone white in the flashes of lightning and eyes alight with something close to fear. Before Lana could say something – perhaps assure that everything was fine – her mum reached over and grabbed her bag, threw Lana her hoodie.

"We need to leave," she said sharply, pushing Lana out the door with an urgency Lana had never seen before. "Both of you, get to the car!"

And as Grover ran to the car – well, Lana used that term lightly. It was more like  _trotting_  than anything else – Lana couldn't help but stare at his legs, at the way the fur on them seemed to shake with every trot. Her brain still didn't want to accept any of this, but innately, she knew.

Grover had donkey legs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Believe it or not, I do actually have a plan for where this is going. I have it on a separate word doc that I open for reference. Anyway, since we're now past this chapter that means that all the stuff I've been looking forward to (the Claiming, the camp, the quest, etc) can be done. 
> 
> Hopefully, you liked this, and please leave me your thoughts on it (because I really appreciate them)!

**Author's Note:**

> So, yeah. I know it's not an ~original~ concept, or whatever - it's just been fun to write because I liked the idea of siren!Percy. And I like fem!Percy. So I combined them. Please leave a review and let me know your thoughts on it so far?


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